stupid twat, eeeeeee shouldn'ta lookt at me like that!

“I slept with faith and found a corpse in my arms on awakening; I drank and danced all night with doubt and found her a virgin in the morning.” - Aleister Crowley

this quotation and this painting by Egon Schiele seem to sum things up for me at the moment, don't they? fucken wow. it's where i am, and it's my best thinking that's gotten me here. so i guess it's onward and upward or whatever makes you feel at ease with the knife lodged firmly in your back. keep on smiling. it's what you do when no one's hooking that truly determines your character. or something like that. the devil's in the details, ay?

wait wait wait? who said that? who's there?!

shifting about nervously, like a startled, feral thing, devoid of a higher brain and all the wonderfully terrible abilities that come with it. honestly, get your wits about you... then a reassuring thing.

it was nothing honey, go to sleep. busy day tomorrow. no. no, it was nothing.

or was it? and nevermind that you live alone.

you know it's there. that... thing. always speaking to you when the lights are on, making you look the fool in all those important places you traipse about during the course of your hauntingly exciting day.

and you can feel its breath, hot on the side of your neck when the lights are off, making sleep impossible.

go on little one, follow it into the cool darkness. tumble into the technovoid, the neverending promise of the abyss, and emerge from the threshhold a changed thing, a true force of nature. something epic even.

look into it. it's the real bravery here ladies and gentlemen.

catharsis for your arses. blinded by the LIGHTS, dizzee new HEIGHTS.

because who doesn't wanna be like Mike? you wanna be like Mike don't you? that's what i thought. now sit tight, read on, and take some notes. there will be a quiz this coming week and i don't play with kids!

to be sure, there's honey nut goodness in every bite of Crowley's quip.

truth be told, i trust nothing.

not the ground beneath my feet or the twittering reflection in the mirror in lap or the birds and the bees and the trees atop the Pyrenees. and certainly not these much-lauded infrastructures of the mind and heart. faulty engineering. but no federal oversight means the builders will get away with it. bastards.

and neither should you. trust what's before you, that is. not even your own mama. she might still be bitter at you for stretching her twat to the size of a basketball hoop so many years ago. you just never know man.

wanh wanh wanh!

"but i wanna trust my mommy/daddy/gf/bf/sister/brother/pastor/friend/plastic surgeon/Kasai/mistress/home/city/life/husband/wife/radio/sensory experience/Congressman/dog/cat/tarantula/social worker/sponsor/newsman/contractor/bartender/god/neighbor/boss/co-worker/televison/favorite author/life coach/goldfish!"

i know. i know. i know. i know. i know. i know. but it's just not gonna do.

but wait, there's more. there's nothing more actually. hold on! right. let go of you.

(nervous stares toward the ground. tandem.)

don't listen to me. run off, before something B.A.D.D. happens. yes yes, i know i told you to keep reading my other stuff earlier. i know what i fucking said. but what's more human than contradiction sweetheart? now go. GO!

i'm changing into something terrible.

some sort of salacious, serpentine thing, fueled solely by costly cigarettes, complex chemical (chiral) compounds, and combustible, corrosive fluids. holy shit! that's a lot of Cs. and Ss.

what are you still fucking doing here? don't make me break my foot off in your ass! i'm doing these things because i love you.